Yesterday, I met my neighbor, a relatively well-educated and generally well-meaning fellow whom I like to be around, and mentioned my now complete life, what with a new orange peeler and all. He scooted to fetch back his, which was exactly like the one I lost. I snatched it from his hand to see it better, and he went (nearly) apoplectic. "I don't know where your hands have been!"
The convo morphed, bent, and twisted as our inane chats often do, finally to settle on last weekend where he was in a hotel with a gay gathering in process. Then settled the Muse of the muses. He fretted for the maids having to deal with all those sheets in the exceptionally soiled condition they were surely in.